ORACLE
by ilacia
Summary: It occurs to Richard Grayson that he doesn't know the vaguest thing about her. She is the girl with washed-out green eyes and broken glasses; he doesn't know anything else about her beyond those minor details. She's unwilling to disclose anything about a past that she'd much rather forget. [Richard Grayson x Fem!Harry Potter/Harry Potter][being rewritten][02/02/17]
1. Chapter 01 : Letters and an Impossible R

**| ORACLE |**

* * *

 **Chapter 01 : Letters and an Impossible Rabbit Diet**

On a whole, Hollis Lily Potter considers her life paradoxically absurd; absurd enough that exchanging letters with a wanted fugitive can't be considered that strange, neither the fact that her mild-mannered DADA professor was a close friend of her father during their school years and the even more minor detail that he's a werewolf. Perhaps her reasoning isn't exactly sound though since her measurements of normalcy are different, so maybe the witch should examine her life (and the damnable choices she makes) with more scrutiny, since it might be a little weird.

At least she has friends; although that justification but not hold that much weight.

Considering that Hermione Granger is a bibliophile of the highest order who Hollis still believes should have been placed in Ravenclaw in regards to the Mione's utter brilliance in all of the branches of magic they've encountered in class as of now—with the exception of divination which Mione insists is hogwash.

Neville Longbottom is good-natured although his tendency to misplace things or forget things rivals Hollis' own —as does his clumsiness— but Hollis finds him good company and better conversation.

Ron Weasley has an insufferable sense of pride and he is also best friend and shares her unadulterated love for Quidditch; Hollis refuses to engage in another match of chess with him, the last time they played, she was slaughtered.

The highlights of Hollis' summer are the few letters she exchanges with her godfather, Sirius Black, who happens to be a convicted felon who recently evaded an execution through impossible means, which Hollis denies being any part of; she maintains her innocence and no one will ever know with the exception of a few select people. That is what the Dementor's Kiss amounts to ultimately, **an execution** ; death would be preferable to being an empty shell. She personally wouldn't want that fate for anyone no matter how much she despised them. It's the **irreversibility** of it that makes her stomach churn.

While there are many understandable explanations why Sirius didn't write, most of them are very unpleasant. However it's just as likely that she's overthinking it; her godfather can handle himself. Hollis is grateful that he is trying —which is more than the Dursleys ever did for her— and for his patience because she has so many questions and unlike everyone else, Sirius actually gives her **real answers** and doesn't avoid the topic. He explains whatever he can and encourages her to actively speak up if there is anything weighing down on her mind.

It's been more than a week since Hollis' sent off her letter and she finds the radio silence a little more than odd because Sirius is usually prompt with his responses —as prompt as someone on the run can be— so it's not illogical for her to be concerned about him.

Hollis dismisses those thoughts, there's no use for speculation; as she's reflected, it's highly probably that wherever Sirius is — Hollis knows that he must be someplace warm and her guess is based on the birds that delivered Sirius' letters: brightly-coloured, large birds whom were subject to Hedwig's visible disapproval—, he's not answering because it's not safe and he needs to keep a low profile. She knows that he's risking a lot for a bunch of stupid letters because if someone intercepted them that could compromise everything.

Hollis careful to never mention anything that might clue in to his identity so whatever is discoursed in the letters they exchange are usually mundane topics and Sirius' words are laced with caution.

She's so preoccupied with her own thoughts that Hollis takes no notice that she's been dipping her quill in glue and writing with aforementioned quill. Her face twists with displeasure as she examines the useless piece of parchment; at least she hasn't written anything significant on it yet, just notes on Occlumency she can rewrite later. She hears the faint fluttering of wings and Hedwig alights on her left shoulder, as if grasping her mistress' distress. The owl is too proud to explicitly demonstrate how she's troubled by Hollis' frown and instead opts to lightly nipping her fingers to seize Hollis' attention.

Hedwig might possibly be the best company ever taking into consideration how well-attuned she is to Hollis' emotions. Of course with respect to Hermione Granger who could be a tad overbearing but well meaning in general and Neville Longbottom who was too good-natured to even _think_ of hurting a fly. Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon. Since the the new dominion involving her older cousin's inability to fit into any of Smeltings' uniforms due to his appalling food diet consisting mostly of junk food, her aunt's forced the whole house to also partake in Dudley's enforced regimen.

Privately, Hollis considers that Dudley resembles a troll, not a mountain troll though (Hollis could hardly possibly consider Dudley intimidating, not anymore. The Dursleys are more cautious and not as openly disgustful as they would be usually. Most likely because of the overhead threat of her godfather hexing them.), but the school nurse's poetically chosen words in regards to "Dudders" had perfectly honest and if anything else, quite taciturn.

She laughs remembering how Dudley had slammed the door open, nearly breaking it off its hinges and confined himself to his room for most of the week to play games on his PlayStation. Although Hollis had been curious, she's learned enough from the first fourteen years of her life —Hollis is not dumb— and listens from the safety of her bedroom.

Aunt Petunia is in tears as she quotes the conference with the school nurse (Whom Hollis secretly admires for not being fazed in the least by the melodramatic theatrics of her relatives; Hollis herself has never had the patience for it) and it seems neither her uncle or aunt are willing to accept the valid prospect that their son is utterly overweight. "Our Dud-dudders-" Her aunt wails and Uncle Vernon's voice is deafening loud; Hollis is getting a headache from it and she was sleeping **upstairs** with a pillow pulled tightly over her ears.

Her exact words were apparently 'Your son has reached the size and weight of a young killer whale and comparing his body mass to someone of his similar weight, he outweighs the average by a large gap.' It had been followed up with a severe discussion on what would be done to resolve the issue.

From upstairs the faint details she made out —as best as she can with her ear pressed against the thin door—, the entire household would be living off what would amount to be the diet of a rabbit.

 **Bloody hell**. (Ron's really rubbing off on her too much. Mione would be properly horrified, Neville would be startled. Ron would be proud.)

There was no way Hollis would survive off that sort of diet and with her door locked behind her; she happily binges on a slice of the scrumptious birthday cake sent by Hermione: dark chocolate frosting over a vanilla cake and with 'Happy Birthday, Hollis!' neatly iced on in cursive butterscotch.

Her friends still consider Hollis relatively insane for even thinking about moving to America —it is an impossible dream— but for various reasons. Ron is a redheaded prat (who is also one of her closest friends) and he reacts with understandable disbelief when she brings it up. It's the last time she does; the Seeker is completely ecstatic by the promise of the Quidditch Cup and refuses to give cause to the redhead's unease. Hollis isn't idiotic enough to remotely think about broaching the topic with Neville. She already has one person ragging on her Hollis does not need two.

Hermione was even less willing to relent and had forced Hollis into promising that she wasn't going to do anything stupidly Gryffindor (by flooding Hollis with endless mail until she agreed).

Hollis heavily sighs as she continues to study the incantations in the book that Hermione sent her. The leather-bound book is labeled _Everyday Spells for the Modern Wizard_ and filled to the brim with mundane spells and wards regarding fitting into Muggle society without notice.

She's been reading up more about various other spells, both defensive and offensive, so she won't be caught so off guard by an attack additionally to working on her report. The tome that Lupin lent her on Occlumency is a far more intensive read than she thought it would be and as she delves deeper into the subject, Hollis only realizes how shallow her understanding is; it certainly is an interesting topic and is helping her sleep with far less hallucinations plaguing her mind.

If she had been in America, she could have more freely pursued the subject without limits to her magic.

Sirius had mentioned that the American Ministry was far more lenient than the British Ministry was. It was far more culturally diverse and accepting, but many things that were considered normal by the Americans would be far too radical for the British wizarding world.

It was governed by a large legislature of three bodies with a president heading each entity that together dealt with wizard-human relations (or relations with anyone who wasn't a wizard), laws that were passed and reexamined with each year, and secrecy. It was less of a government and more of an association than anything. There was little to no issue with using magic even for minors but the existence of the wizarding world was kept under wraps.

Some wizards had emerged openly as magic-users but with the legacy of super-humans, most wizards dispelled any questions by simply claiming to be another super-human. The American Ministry was fine with that; the administrative system's existence was to manage conduct and illicit use of magic. Sometimes the wizarding world made Hollis forget that they were part of Britain (It felt like an entirely different country.) and Sirius had explained that American wizards were far more integrated into Muggle society.

She could be home-schooled like most were there. It was a culture thing. Unlike in Europe, most had started learning to control their magic from when it first appeared and were taught by their relatives at home until they were fourteen. One could start as young as eight and summer camps were common.

Most wizards did not receive a formal magical education until they were in high-school (around fourteen to fifteen) and their schooling was also for about five to six years. There were universities as well with branches for students interested in gaining a more in depth magical education, something Hermione would have been **thrilled** by.

The American wizarding world sounded strange but not anymore strange than Hollis had initially found the Britain wizarding world.

Sirius had sent a flyer the last time and random packets about places they could move to if he was ever acquitted. A lot of times they'd talk about mundane things just in case the letters were ever intercepted, but sometime he'd purposely mention it and Hollis can't help but wish that he was her guardian; Sirius is more like her family than the Dursleys ever were towards her.

She'd like the last one he sent. Plastered on the cover had been a picture of Happy Harbor; the skies were a light blue and the district overlooked the open sea. It was a bright blue unlike the dull blue of the ocean when Uncle Vernon had been trying to escape the incessant pursuit of the owls with the acceptance letters.

Hollis Lily Potter sighed resignedly as she folded up the book -she fixed her crooked glasses, they were threatening to slip off the bridge of her nose- and placed Hedwig gently down on her perch where she preened her alabaster feathers. When she pressed her ear against the door -and double-checking the door was locked-, her aunt and uncle had gone out on a business dinner with some associates, and Dudley was over at one of his friends' house, most likely playing games with their PlayStation since her cousin's was broken. It had been stupid of him to throw it out of the window during his tantrum.

She was put under house arrest, which Hollis really couldn't care less about, it's not like she didn't have anything to do. She has her books for the next school year already to look at and she preferred it to the Dursleys' constant complaints; Hollis was content with the unusual peace and quiet of the household.

Lifting the floorboard, Hollis carefully placed the leftovers of Hermione's cake with the other three cakes from Ron, Hagrid, and Sirius respectively, sugar-free snacks (Courtesy of Mione's parents), hearty meat pies and a huge fruit cake from Mrs. Weasley, a load of treacle tarts from Neville, and pristine rock-cakes. Hollis is convinced she could use Hagrid's rock cakes as a weapon. Without the intent of eating them, Hollis was examining one but **dropped it on her toes**.

The throbbing pain in her foot that followed after was evidence enough that they weren't in any form edible; Hollis preceded to bury some in the garden and they had perfectly blended in with the rocks, not at all looking at all out of place. They don't break when she steps on them either; they really are **rock cakes**.

She'd kept her school supplies and books locked up in the closet and always wore the key around her neck. No way Hollis wanted to be held responsible if Aunt Petunia accidentally grabbed her precious Firebolt to sweep the floors, which the broom was unlikely to take kindly to. It was an easy mistake since Hollis did most of the cleaning and her aunt was unlikely to recognize the difference between the two.

They'd find a way to blame her even if she wasn't at fault.

After thinking it over for a few minutes, Hollis decides against putting the letters from her godfather, specifically the ones with Happy Harbor, into the closet. She carefully locks up Hermione's book and her school supplies. The letter she safely slips with the cakes in an old, unused shoe-box.

It's getting late, Hollis didn't realize it, it's almost two in the morning (Hollis smirks, they must have gotten stuck in traffic) and she needs to get some sleep if she's going to wok in the garden at dawn. She doesn't want to hear their complaints. **AGAIN.**

Gardening helps Hollis pass the time and she enjoys it, it helps her take her minds off things; Aunt Petunia's pride and joy is the result of her hard work and Hollis must admit that although it began as a chore, tending to the garden might be time-consuming but it is gratifying to see others compliment her endeavours even if she receives no credit.

She cares for the land plot as best as she can and only rolls her eyes when Aunt Petunia nitpicks because she must nitpick; her aunt will of course not leave her alone let alone praise her. Although, Hollis does hide a minor secret. Hidden in the partial shade of the lush rose bushes is a clump of lilies she's cultivated in the corner. _Lilium Allegretto_ discovers after combing through a few books Hollis found in the shed, covered in old cobwebs and dust. She's pleased with how the lily is developing, golden buds beginning to bloom, it's thriving under her care. They should open soon; it's summer.

Hollis is relieved that no one's noticed it; she has the feeling that Aunt Petunia might just weed it up if she found the lily and insist that it was disturbing the organization of her garden out of pure spite. The Dursleys would probably claim that she stole it, even though Hollis found it in the garden shed, wilted and dying, and nursed it back to life with a few helpful suggestions from Neville. (Muggle plants are infinitely easier to handle than any magical plants they encounter in Herbology.)

This is really annoying. Hollis sighs again —she's doing a lot of that lately— and turns off the flashlight, flumping onto her bed with a groan. She kicks off her slippers (They might have been a resentful gift from the Dursleys bought from GoodWill but they're very comfy.) and throws the quilted blanket on the chair. It's only a little hot tonight, but Hollis' room has the worst ventilation, no air-conditioning or heating, and she's **dying** and exhausted.

She needs to get a few hours of sleep; she'll probably only get maybe two or three even though she's not even a light sleeper. Eleven years of living in the cupboard under the stairs and no one should be surprised at this point that she's so accustomed to the constant sound of heavy footsteps above her head that Hollis considers the relocation to the extra bedroom —even with the paper-thin walls— a welcomed reprieve.

It takes less effort than she expects, to fall asleep, but it makes sense because unlike Hermione Granger, who subjects herself to impossible schedules, Hollis Lily Potter isn't particularly a self-suffering person, at least not for those kind of things. Hollis isn't so stupid as to consider that she hasn't done similarly moronic things; it's simply a matter of values dissonance.

Like Hollis can't summon the effort to draft an essay on the most "fascinating" subject, the goblin rebellions; some information which she does file in the back of her mind and Mione would be **proud**. She somehow managed to write eight pages out of the necessary ten even though she's sure some part of her died inside while she was writing it, but she doesn't complain as she has no desire to be thoroughly chastised by Hermione. As she said, she's not **that** stupid.

Her fingers ache; they're stained black with ink and she definitely has smears dashing her cheeks from when spent a very productive hour staring at the wall trying to reach for something to write about and was absentmindedly tapping her fingers on her chin.

Hollis might not be a light sleeper, but she is a restless sleeper so she usually spends hours trying to find a comfortable sleep position and staring at the boring ceiling. However she's so exhausted today that when she closes her green eyes those thoughts that bother her up until the unholy hours of the morning ebb away almost instantly and then's not aware of anything anymore; Hollis is knocked out and fast asleep.

Hollis Lily Potter dreams of a new life without the pressure of prophecies, expectations, or a stupid title. 'The-Girl-Who-Lived' is just a teenaged wizard and she hates the media maybe because it's never consistent and always fickle. Sometime it hates her and sometimes it likes her and Hollis is so exhausted of being criticized for human mistakes; she wishes they would just make a decision. She dreams beyond the world that she lives in because she'd like to be just Hollis without having to be careful about how she words things, to live without any limitations.

That night, Hollis dreams of a boy with startling blue eyes whose name she doesn't know.

* * *

 **| Author's Note |**

 **The irony of the American ministry is not lost on me considering the stereotyping about 'Murica. It's the only way I can explain the difference between magic-users but most wizards identify themselves as magic-users for the sake of the Statute of Secrecy, which is a universal rule. I imagine fem!Harry would be more cautious than her male counterpart and take things slightly more seriously. She's still her socially awkward, reckless self, but a little more mature. Also, since Ivy (Hollis) is a girl, she doesn't wear Dudley's hand-me-downs and the Dursleys instead make her shop at GoodWill for most of her clothing. Thank you for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoyed it!** *comment I whisper.*

 **(Updated 8/6/15)**

 **| Disclaimer |**

 **I do not own Harry Potter, I do however own this story so please do not post this elsewhere without my permission.**


	2. Chapter 02 : The Unknown & Unexpected

**| ORACLE |**

* * *

 **Chapter 02 : The Unknown and Unexpected**

 _Beep. Beep. Beep-._

Blearily, Hollis cracks open an eye to glare at the offensive analog clock; faint sunlight bleeds into quiet suburbia, spilling colour into the grey streets. The witch fixes the alarm with a piercing glare and definitively switches it off before retreating back to the corner of her bed. Except Hollis really should wake up and despite her squawks of complaint, her owl chastises her by pecking her ear sharply. The witch winces with a painful expression—which the pale owl pointedly ignores—, moving her hands to cover her bruised ears, Hollis glares at Hedwig preening her feathers: who remains unperturbed by her mistress' blatant show of annoyance, communed by Hollis' green-eyed stare.

She sighs, long-suffering, and touches for her rounded spectacles on the bed-stand; Hedwig, appeased at last, voices her approval by lightly, more affectionately nipping Hollis' fingers, Hollis sniffs, her pride personally affronted and undermined. The world slides into focus; rounded glasses rest lopsided on the bridge of her nose at constant threat of slipping off. Rises to straighten her back, Hollis absentmindedly notes her joints cracking as she stretches her arms upwards, her fingers interlaced.

Silhouettes of furniture outlined by the faint light filtering through the barred window substitute blurred facets of shade. The teen stifles a sleepy yawn with her left hand; her first step forward almost results with her falling flat on her face when she snags her foot in the folds of cotton sheets. Hollis wobbles as she struggles to regain her balance, although, her efforts are in vain; she tumbles anyway and a startled yelp escapes her throat.

Hollis recovers from her bewilderment swiftly enough for her to hastily out her arms to support herself, barely managing to stop a fraction of an inch from the floor from smacking her face. "Shite." Hollis grits between her teeth; she downwardly glares at alabaster blankets pooled on the wooden floor. Fortunately, Hollis has the honed reflexes of a Seeker, a more than decent one if she must say; if she didn't quickly react on the field, she'd constantly be nailed by Bludgers before even getting near the Snitch, Beaters or no Beaters.

However, her humiliation is unforgotten; as juvenile as it, Hollis is pointlessly agitated —she is excessively obstinate and refuses to admit her pitfalls, instead she devotes all of her agitation towards an inanimate object. All the whilst fixing the forsaken object with a hateful stare —like Hollis blames it for her near demise—, she makes to properly fold the blankets, her fingers pinching the opposite corners to even out the creases, then fold: once in half and in half again. Set down at the foot of her bed, Hollis redirects her efforts into searching for her bunny slippers, which are nowhere to be seen.

In the dim room, she can't really make out anything with the lighting, even with the assistance of her glasses. She's knelt on the floor, fumbling around blindly for the slippers and trying not to bump into anything; the witch curses quietly under her breath, even with her spectacles, Hollis of course butts her head against a cabinet at least once or else she wouldn't be Hollis Lily Potter.

Bloody hell, Hollis' lousy eyesight remains the bane of her very existence. She groans under her breath as she sullenly rubs her very sore temple; the Seeker has one hand outstretched to catch the slipper that tumbles down from high up on the shelf: where she had kicked it aimlessly last night.

At least she found both; Hollis squints as she peers into the dark space under the aged wooden cabinet. She triumphantly grins when she recognizes the dark outline of rabbit ears in the obscurity; straining to reach with her just too short arm, Hollis outstretches her fingers —they just barely brush the material— and manages to closer her fingers around the sole, and fish the slipper out.

Quickly slipping both on her feet, Hollis hurries to go about her regular morning schedule, while trying not to wake anyone up. Brushes her teeth, makes a valiant attempt at taming her unruly mane (and fails spectacularly as usual), dons an old grey t-shirt accompanied with a pair of comfortable, baby-blue jeans with a few holes —that happens to be one of the few pairs she owns that aren't hand me downs—, before setting about making breakfast after drowsily stumbling down the staircase, still not completely awake.

Hollis has just laced the ribbons of the ragged apron when she finally recalls the dreaded grapefruit diet: only when she had been scanning the fridge for eggs —and finding none— then noticed the list pinned askew to the door with a company magnet ("Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Company" it reads in cartoonish, blue letters), an indecipherable signature —most likely the school nurse from Smeltings— scrawled messily in black ink at the bottom.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Hollis thoughtfully examines the grapefruit in the porcelain bowl set on the counter that she had breezed past probably due to her self-imposed study session the previous day that Hollis has still not recovered from. Meticulously inspecting each citrus fruit, eventually she decides on the smallest one —a pale yellow-gold— since she still has the sweets stashed under the wooden floorboards.

Looking for a knife, Hollis searches the wooden drawer next to the sink for the one with the worn handle; it's not too difficult considering they're so neatly organized: perfectly arranged in neat rows designated by wooden dividers. She retrieves it quickly enough; second column, first cell.

Cutting a modest slice for herself, Hollis tentatively takes a bite of a segment; the tartness makes her suck in her lips. Hollis is in the midst of washing the aftertaste out with water when she identifies heavy footsteps lumbering down the stairs. She hastily downs what is leftover of the slice, forces herself to not make a face, and trashes the rind. She's just finished washing the knife and drying it with a clean washcloth when Uncle Vernon passes her in the kitchen.

They exchange their usual pleasantries —meaning none— and her uncle grumbles about Hollis being a general nuisance even though she's doing absolutely nothing. His insults are something Hollis is entirely too used to, so she can't really care, only make absentminded notes on anything particularly creative and focus on leveling her volatile temper. However, his comments are relatively tame today. Perhaps yesterday's business dinner went over well or else she'd be getting an earful right about now. Either way, she's a bit grateful.

Hollis only rolls her eyes in response to any proposed questions and simply hums quietly under her breath; the name of the tune the brunette can't place at the moment, although she does doubt that even given the proper time that she would even remember. Some unpleasant, catchy song another third-year witch had been singing in the dormitory when Hollis had stepped through the portrait hole that she has not forgotten since.

Hollis silently offers the grapefruit; Uncle Vernon briefly glances at the proffered grapefruit in her hand. He demonstrates his personal aversion with a grimace. He sets off to work without taking anything with him or giving Hollis an answer; she delicately raises a brow, but assumes that since the restriction that prohibits the consumption of anything remotely not healthy applies to all of them, her uncle will secretly pick up breakfast at a cafe on the way to work.

It's never as simple as just saying no. Her relatives are incapable of that, so underhanded; although, on another note, she does echo the sentiment.

Hollis is severely tempted to set fire to anything resembling a grapefruit on sight. Unlike her unfortunate relatives, she will not be dying a slow death, although she still partakes in their misery. The characteristics of fatigue are setting in on her complexion; Hollis is only saved by the trove of various assorted sweets stashed under the loose floorboard that no one has knowledge to with the exception of herself.

Her hand twitches to where she holsters her holly wand, in the back pocket of her jeans, except she grasps for nothing. Hollis' wand is safely locked up in her room as it usually is during the summer.

An ' incendio ' and then nothing would be left except grey ashes however unsupervised magic is strictly forbidden and moderated; Hollis resorts to glowering at the offending grapefruit across the table from where she stands by the sink.

Since it is a Friday, Hollis speculates that her cousin won't be back anytime soon; usually Dudley goes skateboarding with his troupe of minions around the end of the week. Had her cousin not been intimidated by the threat of her magic, she would have been his lackey, tasked with carrying his skateboard(s) for him.

As per usual, when she sees Aunt Petunia sweep into the kitchen with a mop which makes Hollis' dark eyebrows rise infinitely higher since her aunt usually leaves that up to Hollis to take care of.

Today, her aunt is wearing a cotton dress in an obnoxious shade of pink (that reminds Hollis too much of the dreaded holiday called "Valentine's Day") dotted with cheery daffodils. Her aunt's dark hair is combed neatly as usual and her aunt critically eyes the carmine-tinted headband holding back Hollis' unruly hair with something akin to contempt.

Her hair is apparently characteristic of the Potter family which she was unaware of until Lupin tactfully informed her that her endeavours to attack the wreck —which is viewed with general amusement by the common populace— are hopeless .

Before thin lips can move to make another undoubtedly baseless (and snide) remark, Hollis makes herself scarce, wordlessly as per usual, and dismisses herself as she's expected to do when faced with her relatives. For appearances, the Dursleys like to pretend that she doesn't exist and Hollis prefers to pretend that she's anywhere but where she is (4 Privet Drive), so it tends to work out perfectly for both parties involved as long as Hollis stays out of sight and mind which she is glad to do.

Hollis idly runs a free hand through her choppy locks; usually her hair falls past her shoulders, stopping at the mid of her back. In the summer, for sake of practicality, she prefers to keep it shorter and cropped closer to her neck. At times, the weather can be unbearable and Hollis finds it infinitely easier to maintain a bob.

She is nagged less about it as well; although it does not prevent her aunt from underhandedly commenting during dinner about how it makes Hollis look like a delinquent and how she finds Hollis' rugged appearance is generally unacceptable.

Hollis has resignedly accepted, lifetimes ago, there is nothing she can do that will stop her relatives from nitpicking and that acceptance has made her better for it since she no longer needs to seek for familial affection that will never be reciprocate: not by them at least. Although, Hollis could care less now: her small clique of friends, Sirius, and Lupin are enough and more than that.

The sun is at the peak of its course at noon, a speck of white light in the cloudless sky high above her head. Hollis wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, as she gives her work a thoughtful once over. With the summer sun bearing down on her back, she is sweating profusely from the difficult labour; her fatigue is magnified tenfold by the insufferable heat.

When Hollis takes a tentative step forward, she blinks; the background spins sharply. She faintly feels her body sway precariously with the slightest movement; Hollis supports herself with the shovel to keep herself standing steady.

' I definitely need to sit down. ' Hollis hazily reflects and she slumps down to rest her back against the trunk of the elm; the shade provides a reprieve —she detests summers the most— for her to rest for a few minutes before she makes a second attempt at resuming work. After a moment of consideration, Hollis decides to figure out what species the should be red-stained tulips —all Hollis has is the papery tab with its picture, except the blue ink is washed out and she can't make out the faint letters— are and withdraws the encyclopedia from her knapsack to reexamine it.

Tucking her feet neatly underneath her, Hollis begins to skim the pages absentmindedly to search for the tulip without knowing much about the cluster of bulbs prepped in the wheelbarrow; if she was Neville, except Hollis isn't, she might have identified it as a fringed hybrid or parrot tulip. Her fingers stop on page 210, Estella Rijnveld. She knows they are; flares of white run along the folds of the deep-red petals, apparently characteristic of the species and a very distinctive mark.

It is late midsummer, but Hollis doubts that planting the bulbs a little earlier than recommended (autumn) will stunt growth and they will most likely bloom normally and without issues. She gives a glance to the charmed watch she wears on her left wrist; the dials tick at a painstakingly slow pace, a few minutes is enough Hollis decides. Hollis feels a lot less lightheaded. Her thoughts keep on drifting back to Sirius and his lack of response.

Gardening is good for her, it's decent practice for Herbology as she's already pointed out, although the magical plants they work with in class are far more difficult; she remembers the Venomous Tentacula which Hollis is more apt to ever forget she encountered (and the almost scars). It also is a sufficient way to keep her mind off things when she's not finishing her summer assignments.

She's just about picked up the shovel when Hollis is alerted by the racket sounding inside the house and a crack, like a gunshot, ' Maybe apparition... '; she furrows her dark brow in concern, drops the shovel as just as she picked it up five seconds before. Throwing the backdoor open, Hollis is there just quickly enough to witness a vase shattering to a million shards, watch the water spill to the ground at her feet; ' The hydrangeas. ' Hollis bemoans, "Aunt Petunia is going to kill me..."

"Whatever for, Miss Potter?" A dry voice queries.

Hollis starts, stumbles back a few steps, and spins around to be faced with two unexpected visitors: both her Transfiguration and Potions professor. Both of whom are much more somber than they are usually, although that might be difficult to tell considering that neither Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape are particularly eccentric, unlike many other wizards or witches.

Maybe for that reason, they were the ones appointed to see Hollis regardless of the house rivalries or any cause of personal strife; although that still doesn't explain why they are here in the first place. It must be quite serious to require the attentions of Hogwarts; in fourteen years, the only visit she's ever had was when Dobby visited and the evening had ended disastrously.

Hollis is desperately hoping this won't be a recurring case. She straightens her back, which is an almost immediate response to seeing her teachers, despite it still being the summer. Her poor posture is constantly critiqued although it's mostly because of Hollis' tendency to slouch and let her attention drift during class before Mione can act quickly enough to correct her before the professors do.

"Miss Potter." Professor McGonagall assumes a thin smile, if it can be called one; her lips twitched upwards as if she was struggling to keep it there, except it crumpled another an unnameable pressure that left behind only a grim expression.

Hollis is heading off track again; she meets Professor McGonagall's green eyes cautiously, while steadily avoiding Snape's gaze as discreetly as she can manage. Hollis maybe blames him for Peter Pettigrew and the ousting of Lupin that had led to his resignation; worse, he is the reason that Sirius was sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. It is not out of line for Hollis to disregard her professor especially since she is sure if she speaks, she will say something she will regret.

The austere woman's eyes usually has a hard gaze, severe expression, but her features are softened by something almost tragic and instead she looks similarly grim.

Professor McGonagall pushes back her billowy sleeves and gingerly waves her arm, keeping her motions small and her fir wand steady; the shards littering the tiled floor of the kitchen fix themselves together, mending until the present cracks disappear. A tap on the repaired vase collects the spilt water, the second tap transfigures the washed-out hydrangeas vivid shade of blue, the colour of bluebell flames.

"Professor Snape. Professor McGonagall-."

Hollis manages a somewhat confused, polite smile just as Aunt Petunia blusters into the room, her face pallid. The teen sucks in a breath quietly while observing her aunt's reception to the unexpected guests. From the way she purposely averts her eyes when they meet Professor Snape's gaze —the Potions professor's lips curl with displeasure— and her brief, almost furtive glance at Professor McGonagall: who raises one grey brow while maintaining perfect severity. It is the exact displeased look the professor would have donned if confronted she donned when encountered with a student if they had perhaps botched an absurdly simple transfiguration; maybe a match to a needle.

Also, Hollis is extremely glad that the shattered vase is repaired; the porcelain vase had been gifted by the wife of one of Uncle Vernon's business contacts and Hollis remembers polishing that stupid thing for hours every time a guest were to come over, just so the Dursleys could subtly mention it and brag as they loved to do, which makes Hollis aggressively roll her eyes, which in turn brings up another realm of complaints from her aunt and uncle about how utterly disrespectf-.

"What exactly are they doing here?" Hollis internally winces but evenly levels her aunt's gaze; subconsciously, she clenches her fists before relaxing her grip. Hollis feels her magic dancing around her wildly, as if restless. If her temper snaps-, her temper will not snap, Hollis promises herself, even as she glares at her aunt, whose voice is steadily rising; her voice is sharp, almost shrill now. "What did you do?"

"I did nothing." She responds evenly, but she's unable to shrug off the instinctive flinch when Aunt Petunia takes a step closer; too close, enough that Hollis can see the veins of her aunt's narrowed, pale eyes. Hollis would be personally affronted, but she can't muster forth the effort. A part of her will be —for a long time— the young girl who lived in the cupboard under the stairs, who was frail and unable to ever raise her voice above a bare whisper in her own defense, who was struck if she spoke out of turn.

"Don't you raise your voice, you ungrateful brat."

"Petunia." Snape interjects smoothly, he keeps his voice low and certainly quiet enough, however Hollis feels the understated anger lacing his words and the threat lingering underneath as well as a strange, unidentifiable familiarity between her aunt and her professor; she can feel the unspoken hostility. "I would advise you to lower your voice, unless you want the neighbours to overhear our conversation." Aunt Petunia purses her lips immediately and her complexion darkens with unidentifiable anger.

"We are here to take Hollis; she shall be back within a few days after we handle certain matters." Professor McGonagall discloses plainly after she directs a quick, backwards glance directed at the dark-haired man standing behind her. "Severus, please assist Miss Potter in gathering her things." Her aunt seems at a loss of what to do. If it had been anyone else but the head of the houses, anyone but no-nonsense Professor McGonagall or apotheosis of snide: Professor Snape, perhaps her aunt wouldn't have been so conflicted. Hollis acutely observes that Aunt Petunia seem more thrown by Snape's sudden appearance, than by the presence of Professor McGonagall.

' How do you know my aunt? '

She wants to ask but doesn't ask; the question seems inappropriate of Hollis to ask, especially of her teacher. Hollis gesticulates for Professor Snape to follow her towards the staircase which lays across from the kitchen and leads the way to her bedroom with him following closely behind her. Pausing momentarily in front of the door before hesitantly pulling it open, the door creaks in protest. Hollis really hopes he won't notice or ask questions about the bars on the window. Hollis briefly looks at him, but Snape's expression is stoic and she is unable to read anything which makes her distinctly uncomfortable.

Hollis never has been able to understand Professor Snape, not even in the most remote aspect: not his motivations or purpose or anything. However, the tense atmosphere that both professors exhibit worries Hollis; she feels the wrongness to her bones.

"What do I need to take with me?"

"Everything." He acknowledges offhandedly without explaining. Meeting Hollis' confused expression, Professor Snape sighs before specifying more clearly, "We need to resolve a few things before returning; it will take a few days at least, but it might be a week before you return therefore I would advise taking all of your belongings."

"I see." Hollis acquiesces with a small nod and resumes packing, first by collecting her magical supplies : her holly wand, Firebolt, the Invisibility Cloak, the various spellbooks along with her notebooks. Than, Hollis packs her clothes quickly, although Snape at the cakes: various sweets, etc. buried under the floorboard —which she unearths to retrieve the envelope— quirks an eyebrow. "Grapefruit diet." Professor Snape appears only more perplexed by her vague explanation. "Sorry, you didn't ask..." He covers his mouth, of Hollis wasn't mistaken, he had smiled, but he couldn't have.

While Hollis struggles with the overstuffed suitcase, one finally shut, the other still combatting her efforts to shut it. The cakes are the only things left behind, although she does take some of the snacks Mione sent her as well as the treacle tarts which can actually be fitted, crammed into the case. Professor Snape lightly taps it with his wand and it securely clicks shut; Hollis blinks incredulously before flashing a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you."

"Let's go." Snape ignores it pointedly, blatantly, and while she struggles to get a better grip on the heavy luggage, he easily manages both with a wordless spell possible a derivative of the levitation charm. She wants to stubbornly protest that she's strong enough to carry them herself how else would she be a member of the Quidditch team; the teen is silenced by a knowing frown however she steadfastly keeps a tight grip on the suitcase holding her broom.

"I can handle this one," Readjusting her hold on Hedwig's metal cage, Hollis accidentally disturbs her; the white owl cracks open an amber eye with curiosity, but doesn't make another move besides that. She simply closes her eyes once again, to sleep.

"Right.. So are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Are you always so curious, Miss Potter?" Hollis awkwardly looks to the side; her face flushed with embarrassment, she tightens her hold on the suitcase and cage, refusing to take umbrage at his words.

"Not always.."

He heaves another sigh; it seems she's not the only one who's been sighing so frequently. "I am not granted permission to tell you, Miss Potter; you will find out when we arrive."

Based on his avoidance of the subject, Hollis knows it can't be possibly any good; she already feels her stomach sinking with a horrible feeling. The teenaged witch feels concern wash over her once again as she follows Professor Snape down the wooden staircase, knows with her heart as absurd as it sounds.

Hollis is distracted however, almost snorts when she overhears the professor badmouthing Aunt Petunia quietly under his breath about the unnaturally immaculate household and horrendous colour palette of the house in general.

She agrees vehemently with his opinion: one of the few times she does. It is indeed horrid.

* * *

 **| Author's Note |**

 **I changed fem!Harry's name from Ivy to Hollis. Read a story with that name and I don't know, it just seems like it suits her bounds more than Ivy does. It just FEELS better. Also in this AU, she is closer to Lupin and Sirius.**

 **Also, my headcanon is based on the idea that Harry's dark hair would have an undertone of red, an auburn, if grown out. Because of that, it would make her resemble her mother, Lily, far more than James especially considering her green eyes and if Professor Snape was faced with fem!Harry, the resemblance would make him less severe towards Hollis. My reasoning is that she wouldn't look like James' living picture and instead Snape would see Lily's only daughter and would not make a point to bully fem!Harry and be more apt to advise her in her studies, albeit begrudgingly.**

 **I'm also sorry this is slow-moving, but I don't want to rush it. Fem!Harry aka Hollis will definitely meet Robin at least by chapter 5 or 6, will be in America by 4 or 5. I need to somehow get Hollis there first, without making it too abrupt.**

 **|Disclaimer |**

 **I do not own Harry Potter, I do however own this story so please do not post this elsewhere without my permission.**


	3. Chapter 03: WIP

**SO Chapter 3 is in the works and my friend kicked me into picking this up again, so I will. It's like I finished Chapter 5 but had no idea how to get there. ANYWAYS, here's a preview of what's up to come. (In the future, this will be replaced with the actual chapter.)**

Hollis feels her legs crumple underneath her when they land, weak from the exertion of Apparition. She tumbles to the floor, barely managing to not knock over an undoubtedly priceless vase. That would have the family portraits cursing her to damnation which she would be more than happy to avoid.

Neither of her professors had had seen fit to inform her much of what the entire matter was about, only an address: 12 Grimmauld Place, London.

A steady hand extends to help steady her, Hollis smiles gratefully at the slightly taller girl who frowns concernedly downwards at her. Ron stands besides her and Hermione lightly elbows the gangly redhead; he blinks and reaches forward to take her bags despite Hollis' bubbling protests. She purses her lips only because of the fleeting uneasiness reflected in both of her friends' expressions. She opens her mouth to question it but yelps instead when Hermione pulls both her and Ron into a fierce hug.

When they pull back, any of that fleeting uneasiness is gone for now and she is faced only with Hermione's bright smile. Hollis can't help but tentatively smile back and returning the embrace with the same fierceness. Ron makes a choking sound and Hollis quickly pulls away with an apologetic, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Mione, Ron-"

"Happy birthday, Hollis~" Ron grins without a hint of that somberness, she wonders if it was simply a manifestation of her overactive imagination, "Did you get the cakes? Mum wanted to make a bigger cake but Errol was about to collapse." _n._


End file.
